


Strongman

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, M/M, Muscle Worship, Muscles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nelson goes to see Rolf perform at the circus, and gets all hot and bothered during his strongman act.  Muscle worship ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strongman

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this fic, please leave a comment; feedback makes my day!

The rules are simple, and unbreakable: they will not arrive together, they will not leave together, and at no point will Nelson acknowledge that he has ever seen Rolf before. Only after agreeing to these rules was Nelson permitted to see his lover perform under the bright lights of the circus.

Nelson had been to the circus once, back in Michigan as a kid, when a modest traveling circus rolled through a nearby city. Over twenty years later and hundreds of miles away, it still smells the same under the big top: of sawdust, popcorn, and excitement. He feels a little silly to be all alone there, surrounded by grinning, gap-toothed children and their harried parents, and he buys a large tub of popcorn just to have something to keep him occupied. 

He sits patiently through the ringmaster's grandiose introductory speech, some girls doing tricks atop trotting ponies, a troupe of acrobats, and a pair of elephants. There's a tightrope walker dressed as the Silk Spectre, which Nelson finds amusing, but none of this is what he's here to see. 

“Put your hands together one more time for Tilly and Zeb, our elephants from darkest Africa!” Applause resounds through the tent as the ringmaster beams at them. “And now,” he continues, his hushed voice barely audible over the dramatic chords of the brass band. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, prepare to behold a behemoth among men, like no one you have ever seen before. This is a man who can bend an iron bar just like you twirl hair around your finger, missy,” he says, waggling a finger at a giggling girl in the first row. “Prepare to be astonished by his acts of brute strength! It is my honor to present to you the European Powerhouse – _Rolf_!”

And with a fanfare and the sweep of a velvet curtain, there he is. He strides confidently out into the ring, in a leotard so tight he may as well be naked – though Nelson is pleased to be the only one in the whole crowd who has had the happy privilege of seeing the real thing. The ringmaster may have called him a “behemoth,” but there isn't anything but grace in the way Rolf moves. He stops in the very center of the ring and flexes his arms, striking pose after pose while a number of assistants labor to bring out carts laden with weights.

The first thing Rolf does is pull an iron rod from one of the carts. He swings it around a few times, then bends it in half and tosses it to the ground. The crowd lets out a collective _oooh_ , and Nelson is immensely proud to be the lover of this man. Rolf repeats the act a few more times, this time bending the rod around his thick arm, that time forming it into the letter “R” and holding it triumphantly into the air. 

Two female acrobats in sparkling costumes prance out into the ring and hop into Rolf's waiting hands. He lifts one of them in each hand, and they smile brightly. As the applause dies down, they lightly spring up to sit perched on his shoulders. Two male acrobats run out from behind the velvet curtain; Rolf makes easy work of lifting them too, hardly seeming strained at all. 

Finally, Rolf moves towards a barbell with enormous weights on the ends. He hoists it over his head and holds it there for a few seconds. When he brings it down, the assistants add even more weights on. Nelson watches intently, more captivated than even the most wide-eyed child in the big top. Now Rolf is beginning to sweat; his head glistens under the lights and his face is set in concentration. Nelson's pants are beginning to feel too tight, and he is very glad he has the half-eaten tub of popcorn in his lap. 

As if the weights weren't enough, next the acrobats climb up to sit on the barbell while Rolf lifts it again and holds it for a good thirty seconds to the whoops and cheers of the crowd. Nelson joins right in. The popcorn stays in his lap until the end of the show.

~*~*~*~*~

He's not ashamed to tell Rolf how much he loved watching him perform, though he's not sure how to bring up what he wants to happen next. When he finally finds the courage, Rolf pauses, then nods and says, “Tomorrow night at the gym.”

What he means, of course, is the gym at Headquarters, abandoned for the night. Rolf is already there when he arrives. He stands impressively by the bench press, holding a dumbbell and wearing only a tiny, tight undergarment. Nelson wants to peel it off with his teeth.

Without a word, Rolf raises and lowers the weight. Nelson steps closer, wanting to see the motion of every muscle, the strain and release of his lover's body. It's almost shameful how much he wants it, and the more pragmatic part of his brain urges him to turn back and lock the door. He only just manages to tear his eyes away so he can do just that. When he turns around again, Rolf is smirking at him, still curling his arm up and down. 

“Afraid of being caught at something? I thought we were just here for a workout,” Rolf says slyly. 

Nelson blushes. “I never said that.” He crams his hands into his pockets and inches forward again, suddenly turned shy by Rolf's maddening ability to arouse him and make him squirm at the same time. 

“Come closer, then.” Easily tossing the dumbbell to his other hand, Rolf beckons him forward. 

With each step Nelson takes across the gym, Rolf looks that much more imposing, that much larger. He wonders, as he often does, how he ever caught this man's eye when he is so much Rolf's inferior. His lover is by far the biggest man he's ever seen, including any number of seasoned Marines he'd encountered back in the thirties. Back then, he'd thought they were the paragon of manhood, all strength and authority, and if he couldn't be exactly like them, then he'd longed so much to be _with_ them. He had gotten that wish just once, bent over his sergeant's desk with his own shirt stuffed into his mouth. That had been good, but everything about Rolf blows it completely out of the water. 

He's just next to Rolf now, close enough to smell a trace of the cologne he applied this morning, and the musk which is unique to him. Rolf is built like a bear, like a skyscraper, powerful and unbreakable. The muscles in his arm bulge and swell each time he moves it. His thighs are practically worthy of poetry. The heavy scarring does not diminish him in the least; rather, it reminds Nelson of the kind of man he's dealing with, the kind of man who can take that degree of pain and carry it like a badge. He wants to touch every muscle, lick the sweat off them, rub off against Rolf's rock-hard body...

“You disgusting boy,” Rolf says, staring down at him as though he can read his mind. “What are you thinking about?”

Nelson swallows. “I want to touch you.”

“Is that so?” he sneers. “And why is that?”

Damn this man to Hell for the things he does to him. “Because you're perfect. I just... I need to feel you.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers against Rolf's arm. “Please?”

Rolf reaches up with his free hand and grabs Nelson by the wrist. A quick thrill goes through him, the kind he always gets when he doesn't know if he's about to be slammed face-first into the ground or fucked senseless, or both. But this time, Rolf only cracks a wolfish grin at him. “Don't be such a sissy. You know I'm not here to play around. Take this.” He thrusts the dumbbell at Nelson, who takes it without a thought. He struggles to save face when he realizes just how heavy it is – he's in excellent shape himself, but he's nowhere near Rolf's level. The larger man laughs at him, a deep chuckle that just may have a note of fondness in it.

“Look at me,” he says once Nelson has moved the weight to the floor. Nelson is happy to comply, watching breathlessly as Rolf takes a stance. One massive arm curled is upwards as before, but he doesn't need to be lifting anything to show how strong he is. 

Nelson receives an expectant look, and he takes this as his invitation. Rolf's skin is warm and smooth under his fingers, just a thin pliant layer over the hard muscle. When he flexes, his arm bulges and thickens, deltoid and biceps standing out impressively. Nelson can see the individual muscles moving over one another, sliding and stretching. He squeezes Rolf's arm and nothing gives. It's as if he's grasping at carven stone. In a sudden burst of bravery, he lays a kiss there. Rolf responds by flexing for him again, drawing from him an appreciative moan.

“Bigger,” he says. “You can make it bigger.” He doesn't know where the words are coming from, and he doesn't care, not as long as Rolf keeps going with this. And he does, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tenses his arm until the veins stand out. Somehow he seems to have done just what Nelson asked for, and Nelson traces his tongue along the lines of the veins until he comes to Rolf's powerful shoulder. From there, Rolf's back catches his interest; he admires the way the broad shoulders taper down into a narrow waist. Everything about it is flawless, too perfect to be human. 

“Let me see you back here,” he breathes, running his hands from Rolf's shoulder blades all the way down to where the tight garment barely covers his ass. 

Rolf draws his shoulders back, causing the muscles to tighten and ripple. “Careful, Nelly,” he says, glancing back towards his mesmerized devotee. “Don't think you can make demands of me.” He turns his torso one way, then the other. “Don't you realize what I could do to you? I could snap your spine over my leg. I could break you without even trying.”

“I know.” Imagining Rolf overpowering him sends a surge of heat through Nelson's body, almost unbearable in the already warm room. “Oh god, I know.” He kisses and licks down Rolf's back, feeling the muscles shifting under his greedy mouth. Soon he must drop to his knees (where he belongs); he briefly palms and squeezes at Rolf's firm buttocks before sliding his hands down to his thighs. In his new position, Nelson can smell the distinct musk of arousal emanating from his lover. Knowing that Rolf likes this as much a he does is more than he could have hoped for, and he gasps with desire as he rests his face against Rolf's thigh, nuzzling and breathing hard.

When the long muscles there move against his face, he grabs desperately at Rolf, stumbling clumsily on his knees so he is in front of the standing man. The sight which greets him sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. Rolf's erect cock is straining against the tight fabric, every contour clearly outlined. Nelson moans softly as he mouths at the thinly covered member, his hands aimlessly grasping at Rolf's legs. He's lost in the haze of zealotry, where nothing matters but the object of his worship: the superhuman before him, perfection made flesh, to whom he is only an unworthy disciple. He laves a long path with his tongue from the swell of Rolf's balls to the head of his cock, tasting salt through the smooth fabric. 

Rolf's paw of a hand comes down and tangles into his hair; Nelson whimpers needfully and slides his hands upwards, fingers brushing the boundary between fabric and skin. “Rolf,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. He says his lover's name again, like a plea, like a prayer, hoping Rolf will understand what he needs.

His head is jerked back roughly, and Rolf's stern, dark eyes meet wide blue ones. “Beg me.”

“Please, Rolf,” he says, lapsing easily into the lustful babble that his lover usually likes to hear. “Take me, please...”

His scalp burns as Rolf raises his arm, hand still gripping his hair, very nearly lifting him off the ground. Tears spring to Nelson's eyes, and he casts them downwards in shame. Rolf growls in displeasure. “Look at me,” he commands, and Nelson has to do as he's told. “You can do better than that, yes? You're such a filthy little thing, anyone can tell that just by looking at you. So beg me.” Nelson can't suppress the sob that rises in his throat, nor the humiliation that makes him even more desperate for release. 

“I can't— I need—“ he whines. He never finds it easy to say just what he wants, he's always too much of a coward to speak the right words aloud. But with the way his cock is throbbing inside his pants, reminding him of how badly he needs to be touched, he's willing to try. “I need you inside me,” he says, softly. “You're so big, I... I want to feel you...” There's something about putting these thoughts into words that makes them even more shameful; he feels like half the city can hear him admitting to his desires. Rolf's eyes are so intense, and he isn't letting up.

He has to break eye contact if he's going to get it out. “Fuck me,” he whispers, flushing from his cheeks to his ears. “God, Rolf, please just do it... Oh god, thank you, thank you.” 

Rolf wraps a massive arm around him and tosses him down onto the padded bench. Nelson makes quick work of getting his clothes off, and grabs the long barbell that rests over the bench, biting his lip expectantly. Rolf, however, is taking his time. He peels off the tiny garment, revealing a dark erection, proportioned just like the rest of him. 

There is a small pop as Rolf opens the cap of a bottle of oil. “I used to use this during my shows,” he says as he spreads the oil over his shoulders and chest, then further downwards. It makes his body gleam even in the dim lights of the gym. “But it has other uses as well.”

Nelson swallows as Rolf joins him on the bench, and he draws his knees up to his shoulders before he becomes too pinned to move at all. With wet fingers, Rolf strokes at Nelson's sensitive entrance, then positions himself and sinks the full length of his cock into him. Nelson cries out wordlessly and wraps his legs around his lover's waist. There is hardly any room on the bench to spare, so Rolf supports himself with one hand on the barbell and the other flat on Nelson's chest. It's hard to breathe, but he doesn't care, not when he has the incredible view of Rolf's oil-slick body above him, moving with a hypnotic fluidity. 

As Rolf drives into him again and again, Nelson shifts just slightly, and the next thrust hits him in exactly the right place. He reaches up and throws his arms around Rolf, slipping a little bit but managing to pull the two of them together, chest to chest. He buries his face in the crook of Rolf's neck, smelling sweat and salt, and screaming when Rolf bites down on his shoulder. His cock is pressed against his stomach, trapped between the two of them. When Rolf moves, his hard abdomen grinds against it. Between that, and Rolf inside him, and the muscles rippling under his hands, it's enough to send him over the edge, ecstatic and clinging to his lover like it's all that can keep him from being lost to delirium.

Rolf finishes not long afterwards, growling out his climax into Nelson's ear. Before he knows it, Nelson is lying down atop him, resting his head on Rolf's chest in complete content. 

“Did I tell you how perfect you are?” Nelson murmurs.

Stroking Nelson's hair, Rolf rumbles, “You might have.”

“Well, the circus doesn't pay you enough, not with the kind of show you can put on,” he says drowsily. “You should ask for a raise.”

Rolf laughs, and they rest.


End file.
